


You Will Still Love Me Tomorrow

by JoifulDreaming



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Can Sense Love (Good Omens), Best Friends, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:21:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24746743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoifulDreaming/pseuds/JoifulDreaming
Summary: Pre-faceswap conversation
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 167
Collections: Ineffable Delights to Sink Your Teeth Into





	You Will Still Love Me Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: What about the first time Crowley found out Aziraphale could sense love?

Aziraphale had dropped his hand as soon as the bus stopped. Crowley was pointedly not thinking about it. He didn’t think about it as they took the short walk up to his flat, the not holding hands anymore. He didn’t think about it as he unlocked his door with a flick of his wrist and invited the angel into his home. He didn’t think about it as he sauntered past what remained of Ligur, hoping that Aziraphale would ignore the foul puddle, too.

Crowley did such a good job ignoring the fact that they weren’t holding hands anymore that it didn’t even register that Aziraphale hadn’t followed him into the kitchen until he turned around and took visual notice. He pressed his lips together at the absence, but continued to his goal anyway: unstoppering a bottle of dark red wine and pouring two glasses. He took a deep breath and carried the glasses as he retraced his steps.

He told himself that having the angel out of his sight was fine. They hadn’t always been together before. Long periods of time passed without catching sight of one another. It shouldn’t be any different now. But, his heart refused to listen to his brain, instead thrumming away against his ribs. They’d scarcely made it this far and tonight might be the last night to drink and talk into the wee hours. He told himself that it didn’t matter, but he knew that every moment of it mattered.

He found Aziraphale amongst his plants in the atrium, though the angel’s eyes were somewhere else. Crowley understood; he’d had a home once, too, and it had been ripped away from him without his permission. His heart beat harder in his chest as he contemplated what he had lost in his Fall. But, also, what he had gained. It was worth it, every bit of the pain was worth it. The torment from hell’s other inhabitants was worth it. All to be here, even up to this moment, side-by-side with his best friend.

“Wine?” He held one of the glasses out between them and watched as the one quiet word startled Aziraphale out of his thoughts.

“Oh, yes, thank you.” They both took a deep gulp of wine and didn’t look at one another, examining the plants instead.

“You know...” Aziraphale started, that far away look returning to his eyes even as he looked like he was studying the perfection of the ficus in front of him, “I always thought that maybe they were better at hiding their feelings than I was.”

“They?”

“My fellow angels.”

“Hmm.” Crowley took another hearty sip, eyes darting from the wine in his glass to Aziraphale and back.

“Before your fall... Oh, is it alright to ask?”

“Sure, angel. It’s old news.”

“I know it’s not. But, I’m afraid I’m too curious not to ask.”

“Never one to dissuade curiosity.” Yet, inside he trembled a bit. Possibly their last night and Aziraphale wanted to know about his fall? Or before. He’d said before. Crowley steeled himself. If this was going to be their last night, their last chat over wine... Then he would be as open and honest as he could. Whatever the angel wanted. Not that that... was much different than usual, even he could acknowledge that.

“Could you feel love when you were an angel?”

“Nah,” Crowley rubbed at his chin, “can’t say that was ever really one of my talents. Creation, that was my bag. Pulling things from the ether. Real magic.” There was something pinging around in the back of his brain: a softly sounding siren of warning. A thought forming, but from far away.

“I always thought that perhaps all the angels I consorted with were better at concealing the love they felt. I never really understood why, you know? There’s no need to hide your heart in heaven. It should be safe there.”

Crowley made an inarticulate noise, unsure how to answer that.

“The truth is, though, that they didn’t love me. I’m not sure they loved each other, either. Dare I say, they might not even have loved Her.”

“Likely,” Crowley sighed, drawing closer almost unconsciously, “likely, they only really knew love for themselves and their positions.” The siren was getting louder, the thought forming but still just out of reach.

“If that.” Aziraphale swirled the wine in his glass, “But you, you’ve never hidden it.”

“Hidden what?” The siren in his head was nearly deafening now, the other shoe poised to drop.

“Your love. You’ve never hidden it from me.”

“Ngk?” Crowley’s fingers went numb as the thought finally coalesced: all this time he thought his feelings had been trapped in his own chest, his own heart, but was it possible... that they had all been laid out at the angel’s feet all this time? He nearly dropped the wineglass, only thinking to clench it at the last possible moment. Even so, some wine splashed over the rim.

“On the wall, overlooking Eden, I told you that I had given away my God-given flaming sword. And you loved me for it. You hardly knew me.”

“Well, I-” Crowley choked on his own tongue.

“I tried to put it aside, you know. Demons can’t love, they say. But, I would run into you again and again and again and it would be there every time.”

Crowley set his wineglass down by the plants. He wasn’t sure if he was going to cry or pass out, but neither supported his desire to keep a cool demeanor. 

“Your love was always there, bright like any star in the cosmos and warmer than the hearth of home.”

He was definitely getting light-headed. He sat down on the ledge by the ficus before he lost all dignity and collapsed. Aziraphale still wasn’t looking at him, despite his continued venture into transparency.

“I daresay, you’ve been more of a loving home to me than heaven ever was.” And now Aziraphale was looking at him, earnest eyes shining.

Crowley removed his sunglasses and tucked them into the collar of his shirt, meeting Aziraphale’s eyes purposefully because words had utterly failed him.

“I am sorry, dear, that I’ve needed to push you away so many times. I know,” Aziraphale swallowed hard, “I know I have a lot to make up for as far as that’s concerned. But, more than that, I’m sorry that you can’t feel how very much I want to be your home, too.”

“You are,” Crowley croaked, unable to hold himself back any longer he reached out his hand and Aziraphale took it in both of his. Those soft, warm angel hands. His world stopped spinning sideways, righting itself as the touch grounded him, “you are my home. Six thousand years, you’ve been my home. Maybe... maybe before that. I just didn’t know what was missing.”

“All the same, I wish you could feel it like I do from you. You don’t know, darling. It’s like basking in the gentlest sunshine. Early morning, with all it’s colors and all it’s quiet. I don’t sleep, but I imagine it feels like waking to a new day.”

Crowley tugged at his hands, pulling him close enough to hug him around the middle. He peered up at the angel, making sure this was okay. It was a sight more than holding hands. Aziraphale moved even closer. Crowley rested his head against the soft belly in front of him.

“I suppose I could just tell you.”

Crowley squeezed him, again finding himself out of words.

“I love you, Crowley.” Aziraphale’s fingers had found their way into the soft hair at the back of his head. Crowley couldn’t breathe and he was, once again, unsure if he was going to start crying, “I love you and I believe in our side- yours and mine. This will not be our last night together.”

Crowley sucked in a deep breath, holding the angel closer. He’d said all of that in a way that rumbled and glistened somehow with Truth. The Truth of an Angel, sent by God Herself. He wanted to believe in it. He would believe it. He didn’t believe in God, outside her existence. He didn’t believe in Heaven’s angels with their thirst for power and control. He didn’t believe in Hell, that place could continue to rot. But, Aziraphale. He believed in Aziraphale. Regardless of whether or not he could feel the love he claimed. He just knew. His belief in this didn’t need tangible proof, it was written between the lines of six thousand years.

“I expect,” Aziraphale’s hand traveled down his jaw and tilted it so they could meet eyes again, “to feel all of this from you tomorrow. And all the days after. Can you promise me that?”

“I promise you, Angel. We’ll come up with something.”


End file.
